The Man from the Sea

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is an allegory. I've tried to explain what it's like to help someone who is too broken to be healed, too shattered to touch without hurting yourself.

Submitted: October 08, 2016

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Submitted: October 08, 2016

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A man came crawling to me from the sea, haggard beard dripping with blood. His decaying body, slashed and torn like the rags he wore, flung about, scattering salty droplets. Ah how disfigured he was! The sickening crunch of cracking bones racked his frame with every step in the knee-high water. But worst of all was the single eye. A black, empty hole rimmed with fear, it begged me to help him, please!
I ran to him, ready to stop the bleeding, stop the tears. But as I reached to touch his tattered skin, a pain shot through my outstretched hand. Now my blood, too, was pouring into the sea.
A moan escaped his purple lips as he stared at me, begging to be saved. His arms, I saw, were glittering with shattered glass which stuck out jaggedly from his flesh. Now they began to flail about madly, as if he were drowning in the tears, the blood, the sea lapping at our knees. I shrieked as his glass-torn arms clutched at me, raking knives across my flesh. His fear mutilated me. And as I sank into the salty waves, his silent cry for help burned within my sinking soul.


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